(with torn and bleeding hearts) we smile
by loveislouder94
Summary: "Molly can't help herself, she's wired as a mother, and she always sets a place for Fred, even though she knows in her heart he's never coming back. He'll never eat with them again, never laugh again, never live again."/ The war is over, but its participants are broken in a thousand different ways.
1. Harry

You're the Boy-Who-Lived, the saviour of the wizarding world, the Chosen One, but underneath all that, you're just as screwed up as everyone else. Only you'd better keep it secret Harry dear, better keep it all together in front of those cameras and those journalists and reporters and authors and mothers and fathers and sons and daughters and people who expect you to be more than what you are. You've an image to uphold, remember?

During the day you're wound so tight, trying so hard, giving so much to everyone else that there's nothing left to give yourself, not to mention those closest to you.

It gets to the point where you need a bottle of Firewhiskey just to fall asleep, but Ginny finds out and puts a stop to that. For a while you grapple with the insomnia and she stays up with you while you pace and drink too much coffee and count sheep with the faces of those who've died because of you. And when you wake coated in sweat instead of blankets, she's the one there holding you, smoothing back your hair and whispering words with soothing sounds and little meaning. You hold her tightly in return, and you want to find the words to tell her how much her presence means to you, but all that ever slips from your mouth is "I love you." She seems to understand though, and for that you're grateful all over again.

Eventually you acknowledge that she needs her sleep too, especially when she's got to go back to Hogwarts, and, later, training sessions with the Harpies five mornings a week, and so together you make the decision to try a Sleeping Potion. It's just a temporary measure, you reason, you'll only take a little when you need it, and Ginny seems to believe you. But you're lying to her and to yourself and to everyone around you, and you know it. Once Ginny's asleep – only once she's asleep, because if she finds out you know she'll stop you, and you're too dependent already, you don't know what you'd do if that happened – you drink your potion from the bottle, disregarding the recommended dosages. Whoever recommended them didn't – couldn't possibly – have considered what your situation would require. How could they? There's never been a situation quite like yours; you're all alone. You're always alone, even when there's hundreds of people clamouring to hear your every word, even when you can hear the gentle breathing of the dedicated girl sleeping beside you. It's a bitter thought, one reserved for nights like these, when no one else could possibly know.

There's a period where you avoid even Ron and Hermione, telling yourself they need some time to adjust to the novel idea of Ron and Hermione, the package deal, when for so long he's just been Ron and she's just been Hermione. Truthfully, as much as you love the both of them, seeing them brings back memories and pain that you don't want to deal with just yet. But of course, they're Ron and Hermione, and they were never going to be kept away from you very long, and especially not when Ginny figured out what you were doing. One day they appear in Grimmauld Place where you've been living while you try and reacquaint yourself with the world. They're hand in hand and doubly determined, and they refuse to leave until you tell them what's going on. In typical Hermione fashion, she guesses and she's correct, and you swear she's channelling Dumbledore when she tells you "numbing the pain for a while will only make it worse when you finally feel it."

But, you want to yell at her, you're not numbing anything! You still feel everything, and that's the problem. In the wake of the war there was a honeymoon period, where everything was rosy and the world was rich with celebration, because look – look at the second chance they had been granted. Yet there was mourning among the happiness, so many and so much had been lost. It's _that_ you can't escape, all those people sent to their deaths when you – you were blessed enough to come back unscathed. What makes you worthy of a second chance, when they all had just as much, or more, to live for?

Their names cycle through your mind on endless repeat: Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, Dobby, Sirius, Cedric, Mum, Dad. It is your mantra, and in the daylight hours it helps, because you say their names to yourself and you remember, this speech is for them, this ceremony is for them, this world moves forward for them, so that their sacrifice will make a difference. But what in daylight is your blessing, at night becomes your curse. Their faces haunt you, their memories taunt you, and all you know is that it's your fault. If only you had ended it sooner.

You think of your godson often, and you note with regret the similarities between you. Both boys orphaned at such a young age, victims of a war you were too young to understand. When you finally knock on Andromeda's door, Ginny is with you, and you're gripping her hand in your own, silently pleading with her to keep you from falling apart. When he smiles at you, with brown eyes like his father and ever-changing hair like his mother and an air of innocence that's all his own, you know coming here was the best thing you could have done.

"Hello Teddy," you say, "I'm your godfather, Harry. And I promise to take good care of you." It's the first promise you've made in a long time, and it feels like one you'll be able to keep.

That night, you fall asleep without your potion. It's just one night of the countless more you'll have to face over the course of your life time, you're not all fixed and better and recovered – you doubt you ever will be, really – but on this one night you're okay, and that's enough for now.


	2. Remus

**A/N: Forgot to mention that the title comes from a poem by Paul Laurene Dunbar. Also, this was going to centre only on five characters who survived the Battle of Hogwarts, but I couldn't resist adding another chapter to write about my favourite pairing.**

The first wizarding war of the twentieth century leaves Remus Lupin bereft and almost irreparably broken. The second brings him healing, in the form of a whirlwind of pink hair, clumsiness, combat boots and courage.

Losing everything he has on that fateful night in 1981 is agony greater than Remus has ever experienced, far greater than any inflicted by the full moon and her inadvertent ability to turn him into a monster. Both his parents are gone, free from the burden of a son that brought them so much shame. They loved him, and barely treated him any different, but his condition wore away at his mother's gentle soul, and his father carried the blame for Remus' lycanthropy to his grave, struggling to ever look his son in the eye.

So, for a long time, the Marauders are Remus' family and friends at once, the Marauders and Lily. He trusts them all with his life, and has done, on several occasions. And then, slowly, fear infects them all, fear and paranoia, sowing doubt and suspicion where once there had only been blind faith. Peter becomes more distant and timid than usual, Sirius doesn't laugh as much, and Remus can feel his eyes on him when Sirius thinks he won't notice. Lily's letters become notes, filled with excuses:

_Sorry, Remus, Dumbledore doesn't want us to have visitors, _or _Harry's not feeling well today, maybe another time? _Except there's never another time, and Remus knows full well that Sirius visits them every other day.

There's a traitor in their midst, someone feeding information to Voldemort, and the realisation that they think it might be him hits him like a hard blow to the stomach, and makes him hate himself all the more. Of course they'd suspect him – all of Voldemort's followers are monsters in some form, and who's more monstrous than Remus Lupin, werewolf?

And then they are gone, all of them, in one fell and awful swoop. Lily and James murdered by Voldemort, Peter blown into a million tiny timid pieces, and Sirius, traitor all along, lost to – or in – a mad and unstable mind. Remus' pain is beyond words or any sort of expression, yet it is loud and heart-wrenching. He sits in his tiny bedsit whose rent he can't afford, and weeps for an indefinite amount of time, until he is so worn out he falls asleep and doesn't have to be stuck with his pointless life and too much pain.

His grief is fierce and unashamed – because it is real, you see? _They_ were real, they lived, and they live still, their memories inside his heart, and _this? _This cold, hard, unforgiving knowledge that, try as he might, he can't forget, it _hurts, _tears, beats and batters him with its immoveable truth (they are gone, you are alone).

Dumbledore visits him a few days later, and Remus composes himself, refusing to let his old headmaster see him so weak. Remus barely registers the news of Frank and Alice's torture, it's just one more loss, a little more grief, in amongst a sea of loss and grief.

Slowly, Remus lives, and with an even greater degree of caution. Life has proven to him time and time again that the world is a dangerous place, and it will hurt you any chance it can, if you let it. By the time he meets Nymphadora Tonks, Remus is reserved and distant, and doesn't know how to trust, but he has retained his innate goodness and is nowhere near as bitter as life has given him reason to be.

Their first encounter is so very Nymphadora that Remus cannot help but smile whenever he thinks of it. She walks into Grimmauld Place ahead of Mad-Eye, bold as brass with her Muggle jeans and defiant violet hair one moment, and the next her foot hits the umbrella stand. She's about to hit the floor, and before he knows what he's doing, Remus has reached out and steadied her, heart beating fast as he realises that this is the closest he's been to another human being in a long time.

Her hair is bright red as she rights herself, betraying her embarrassment, but she watches him aggressively, as if daring him to laugh. He doesn't.

"Thanks. I'm Tonks," she says, sticking her hand out for him to shake.

"No," Mad-Eye growls from behind her, "You're dead. Constant vigilance, what if Remus had been a Death Eater?" Neither Remus nor Tonks points out that the likelihood of there being a Death Eater at the well-protected headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is highly unlikely.

Instead, Remus shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you Tonks. I'm Remus Lupin." He waits for her eyes to light up with recognition and the inevitable disgust. They don't.

"Enough chit-chat, the meeting's about to start!" They obligingly follow Mad-Eye into the kitchen, Remus observing in fascination as Tonks' hair morphs pink. This is a sign, he will later learn, of her happiness and excitement.

Over the next few months, Tonks continues to surprise him. They are often paired together to guard Harry, and they talk to pass the time, Remus discovering a woman of remarkable acceptance, humour and intelligence in his companion.

She challenges every single one of his beliefs about people and about himself, showing him through her actions that she values his company. If Snape makes a snide remark to him at an Order meeting, she'll morph her face into various funny appearances until he smiles. Sometimes, she'll appear at Privet drive with a take-away hot chocolate for the both of them, because she remembers they're his favourite.

He forgets who he is with her, forgets that he's Remus Lupin, werewolf, and for a while he can be Remus Lupin, just like everyone else, telling her stories about his time at school. Somehow, talking about James and Peter and Sirius and how they used to be doesn't hurt quite so much when he's with Tonks.

Bit by bit, she breaks down his barriers. She makes him laugh with genuine amusement, and when he's with her he's happier than he thought he'd ever be again.

Despite all that, despite the fact that he holds her while she cries for Sirius, and she holds him in return – it feels so nice to be held, and to be wanted, for once – he's forever damaged by the war and by years of unthinking prejudice, convinced that he is nothing but a burden to her, an old, poor dangerous burden. It is a conviction that never fully leaves him, even when they're married, or when Teddy lies between them, a living breathing testament to the unbreakable bond that ties them together.

In 1981, Remus vows never to trust again, and sixteen years later he trusts someone else more than he does himself. One war tore him apart, the other broke him a little more, and then love sewed him back together, a scarred, sometimes-werewolf human who finds belonging with a clumsy always-Metamorphmagus called Nymphadora Tonks.


	3. Draco

1998

They've both had a little bit too much to drink and it's making them hiccup and sway and laugh like they never would sober. They're both more than a little bit intoxicated and it's a little less than appropriate, but they don't particularly care.

She looks at him intently through her alcohol induced haze, hazel eyes focusing on his grey ones, and she says, clearer than she's said anything else in the past few hours. "I forgive you, you know."

He's still in control of his mental faculties enough to be confused. "I never asked for forgiveness."

"Not with your mouth you didn't, and not with your hands, either. With your eyes. They're sad and cold and they beg for absolution for all your crimes." She says this so seriously, and then she giggles.

He looks at her with typical Malfoy disgust. "You're drunk, Astoria."

"So are you, Malfoy, but you did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he retorts dismissively. But he knows she's right. Somewhere in her befuddled brain, she'd stumbled across a truth he actively tries to avoid, and her clumsy utterance is frighteningly confronting. He grabs the bottle from her hand and takes another swig to make it go away.

"Let's dance," he tells Astoria, pulling her up by the hand.

She giggles again. "Since when do you dance?"

"All purebloods in high society need to know how to dance. It is, among other things, a part of what we must do to uphold our honour. Our lovely, untainted, pureblood honour." He meant it as a joke, but he ends up practically spitting the last part, malice evident in his voice, and he grips her hands tighter and tighter, begging her to hold him together.

She dimly registers that Draco Malfoy isn't quite whole anymore, if he ever had been to begin with. Then again, Astoria's not all that together either, so she chooses to take this night for what it is, here on the lawn of Malfoy Manor. And then they're dancing, but not in a typical elegant waltz kind of way. Neither of them have any idea what they're doing, so they just hold eachother's hands and spin, so that for a second they are orbiting the earth in a world of their own.

Soon enough they're out of breath, and everything is back to the way it was before, except it's not, because now they're joined in ways they don't fully understand.

0o0o0

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Draco. It's not going to fix anything!"

"What do you know?" He snarls. "You're barely old enough to tie your own shoelaces."

"You're never sober enough to tie yours! All I'm trying to do is help. I'm worried about you, and so are your parents." The reminder of his parents stings. His mother has been sending him owls every day, but he burns the letters without opening them. Don't they understand that he needs to get away?

"I never asked for your help!"

"Fine. I won't give it then!" She storms off, slamming the door behind her. But he knows she'll come back, she always does.

0o0o0

When she doesn't come back for two weeks, he starts to worry that she actually meant it. He cleans himself up, and drinks only enough to get him through the day. Resolving to find her, he Disapparates to the Leaky Cauldron, before realising that he has absolutely no idea where she lives.

With no other choice (because there's no way he'll ask his parents where to find her, he's no doubt that his mother hasn't changed so much that she won't hear wedding bells straight away) he visits each of the places he's seen her before in turn, and asks around.

He continues without success, until one patron recognises him from the Daily Prophet. The whispers start then, and he hears the words "Death Eater" pass quietly from person to person as though the words themselves bring danger with them. Once they reach the owner, he's promptly asked to leave, and he does, fighting the urge to quell his shame with a drink.

He can't keep looking after that, so he goes back to his dirty flat and tries to think of anything other than the afternoon. He tries, and ultimately fails. His throat burns, itching for a drink, but he refrains with every ounce of willpower he can muster. Strangely, he does it for Astoria. He owes her that, at least, for all she'd done.

0o0o

In the end, she finds him, as usual. "I hear you've been looking for me."

He's sitting on the edge of his bed, looking better than she's seen him in a long time. There's no other furniture, so she stands across from him with her arms folded. She's not going to give this time.

"You're not easily found."

"Maybe you were just looking in the wrong places." She waits, and he doesn't say anything else, so she takes the direct approach. "Why were you looking for me?"

"I- I wanted to know if you could still forgive me." Stupidity engulfs him – they were drunk, it was months ago, and why should she remember something so inconsequential? But she surprises him.

"Draco," she says gently, "your sins aren't mine to forgive. But if it helps, then yes, I can forgive, you, and I do." It helps him, to hear someone say it.

"Thank you. And I think – I think you're right. I need to stop drinking, start living." It's hard to admit, and even harder to do, but he manages.

He's not the same boy he used to be, he'll be a recovering alcoholic for the rest of his life, but at least he'll _have _a life.


	4. Molly

**Author's Note: This was written for the Colours Competition by Empress Empoleon, for the category pink, positive: write about the Weasleys. Alternatively, write about any mother in the Harry Potter series.**

Molly forgets what she's lost. And maybe that doesn't sound so bad, but she feels it all over again whenever she realises her mistake. When she sets the table for a family dinner, she always leaves an extra space, even after George starts bringing Angelina to family functions and the number of guests is the same as what it used to be.

Molly can't help herself, she's wired as a mother, and she always sets a place for Fred, even though she knows in her heart he's never coming back. He'll never eat with them again.

Try as she might to keep the others from finding out – she's the matriarch after all, she's the glue that keeps them together when all they want to do is break apart – one by one they cotton on, and one by one they approach her.

Arthur is first, he sees her the most, and he knows her better than anyone. As they're getting ready for bed one night, he broaches the subject. "Molly, dear," he asks hesitantly, "are- are you okay?"

"As okay as it's possible for any of us to be after all we've seen and done, Arthur, yes." He gives her a look, and she knows he doesn't believe her. "Really, I am."

"Really? Is that why you always set an extra place for Fred at the dinner table?"

"Arthur – please – I can't talk about this – it hurts." Her voice wobbles dangerously. Taking a moment to compose herself, she says, "goodnight, Arthur," and turns away from him.

She hears him sigh. "Goodnight, Mollywobbles."

When she's sure he's asleep, she sneaks as quietly as she can to the twins' old room. Lying down on Fred's bed, she buries her face into his pillow to inhale what's left of his scent, and she cries herself to sleep.

George does his bit, too. Molly owls him every day, and every single day she gets no response. But it doesn't stop her from trying. If she were to examine her reasons for doing so, she'd say they were twofold. She wants George to know that he is not alone, no matter how much he feels otherwise. But she also sends them for herself, as though her daily letters will somehow fend off disaster, and after sending them, she can breathe a little easier.

He replies in October, the day before her birthday. He doesn't say much, just tells her he's okay, apologises for not answering her letters and asks if he can come over for dinner the following night. Her reply is so hastily scrawled that it's nearly illegible, but she's so happy to hear from him, she doesn't care.

Andromeda talks to her discreetly after dinner, when everyone else is preoccupied with Teddy and the novelty of his newly acquired smile. As a mother who lost a child in the war, just like she did, Molly relates to Andromeda, and opens up to her more than anyone else. Still, there are memories she cannot share with anyone, and the same, she suspects, is true of Andromeda.

Molly appreciates all of their efforts, for she knows how much it costs any of them to talk about Fred or Tonks or anyone they've lost, but she is aware that ultimately, this is something she must deal with on her own.

Every year, she makes an extra jumper at Christmas, a jumper for Fred. These are the moments when she forgets, for a blissful, fleeting strand of time, what she has lost. In this relaxed state, she might get through a sleeve and a little bit more. By the time she realises what she's doing, she can't bring herself to leave the jumper unfinished. It would be a finality she is not yet ready to face.

Over time, she accumulates a pile of maroon jumpers at the bottom of her cupboard, and they sit there, accumulating dust, a physical manifestation of her refusal to fully accept a painful truth.

The moment of remembrance is the hardest, when it hits her all over again, like a tidal wave, like a ton of bricks, like a mountain of unimaginable misery that her Fred, her darling Fred, is gone. Being in the Burrow by herself for so many hours while Arthur is at work gets lonely every now and then, but at times like these, she is glad for the solitude. No one can hear her sob when she's alone, no one can hear her wail with all the despair she tries so hard to keep in check.

Upon returning to the Burrow after the Battle, there had been a few days where they had barely moved or talked at all, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what had been lost, and won. Molly recovered first, throwing herself into her familiar comforting routine of being a mother. She cooked and cleaned and fusseed over everybody else, never giving them a chance to fuss over her.

One day she stops setting an extra plate. It's not a conscious decision, and the world doesn't shift dramatically when she does. She's happy because her daughter is married to a man she already considered a son, and her youngest son will probably marry soon too. Humming to herself contentedly, she considers the table critically. A heavy feeling settles in her stomach when she figures out that this time, there's no extra place. Unsure whether to laugh or cry, in the end she does neither, simply blinks rapidly to dispel the tears that have pooled in her eyes, squares her shoulders and continues preparing for her visitors.

The next Christmas, she knits her usual Weasley jumpers – an A for Arthur, a B for Bill, a C for Charlie, an F for Fleur, a P for Percy, a H each for Harry and Hermione, a G each for George and Ginny, an R for Ron, but no F for Fred. He doesn't need a jumper where he is. Again, she's conscious of something she should be doing, all too aware of the jumper that hasn't been knitted. The unused yarn sits obtrusively in her basket, calling her, and she turns away. Painful as it might be, it's time for her to let go.

Maybe she is able to relinquish these habitual traditions, but Molly knows that the hole left by the absence of one of her children will never truly leave. It stays within her always, and she lives her life as fully as she can alongside it, just like Fred would want her to do.


	5. Percy

**A/N: Entered in the Colours Competition on HPFC, category magenta, positive. Write something post-war.**

Following Fred's death, Percy becomes obsessed with hunting down escaped Death Eaters. Kingsley Shacklebolt offers him back his position as a junior member of the Ministers' Office, or even a senior member, now that there are so few Ministry officials left, but he refuses. He doesn't think he can step into that role again, at least not for a long time.

Hogwarts needs rebuilding after the Battle, and Percy is one of the first volunteers. He cleans, repairs, gives orders, comforts those at loss, he tries to cook when his mother isn't feeling up to it, even though the results are often less than satisfactory. Basically, he throws himself into whatever task needs doing, or whatever task he can invent. He has to keep busy, has to keep moving, has to keep from thinking.

At night he goes to Knockturn Alley, lurks in dark corners and waits. Inevitably, they'll be there. Petty criminals, frauds, people looking to profit from the instability left behind after the war. And every now and then, some of Voldemort's old followers. They aren't any of the inner circle, like Rodolphus Lestrange, none of them would be so stupid as to so much as stick their noses out of hiding. Mainly, they are the lowlifes who had seen an opportunity and became Snatchers, delivering innocent people to a murdering maniac, people brave enough to fight back when all the Snatchers, and people like them, could do was succumb.

Percy doesn't discriminate between them. In his eyes, they all played a role in the war, and they all deserve to be punished for it. They are all a part of the reason his brother is dead, and if it is the last thing he does, he'll see them get what they deserve.

He is reckless, duelling even when he is obviously outnumbered, and it is only a combination of his white hot rage and pure luck that sees him survive night after night. Sometimes, he is forced to Disapparate to safety, and at those times he will return to his London apartment – returning to the Burrow at a late hour would lead to questions he'd rather not answer, and worry he'd rather not burden his already overburdened mother with – and try to catch a few hours' sleep, vowing to return as soon as possible and finish what he's started.

On the times when he subdues one or more of them, he'll tie them up, make sure they're Petrified or appropriately cursed so they can't catch him unawares, and deliver them to the justice of the Ministry. He never delivers them personally, recognition is not the point of his vendetta, but Kinglsey puts two and two together and confronts him about it.

"You wanted to see me, Minister."

"Yes, I did. Close the door and sit down, please Percy."

Percy does so, and Kingsley eyes him seriously. "I appreciate what you're trying to do Percy, and I understand, at least on some level, why you're doing it, but you're not an Auror. You're putting yourself in unnecessary danger when you bring these wizards in."

Percy swallows, not audibly, he hopes, and makes his decision. He doesn't want to talk about this, especially not with someone he barely knows. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kingsley considers his words for a moment, fully aware that he is being lied to. "I see. I'm assuming your family don't know about your endeavours, and I know they'd be worried sick if they found out, so I won't tell them. There's nothing I can do to stop you, as much as I might want to, so I'm asking you to please just be careful."

"Thank you, Minister."

"You're welcome. And please, call me Kingsley. Everyone else does."

Percy smiles at him uncertainly. "Will that be all, Kinsgley?"

"For now, yes. Take care Percy."

"You too."

He appreciates the Minister's warning, but he keeps going all the same. There's no way he can stop. This mission is his penance. He's let his family down for so long, and now he has to do everything he possibly can to make it up to them, no matter the risk to himself.

Each time, he waits at a different spot, and not always in Knockturn Alley, so he doesn't leave a traceable pattern, but one night his luck runs out. As soon as he appears with that tell-tale 'pop' he's surrounded by five cloaked figures, all with their wands pointing straight at him.

"Drop it," one of them orders, and just as he's about to, the man drops to the ground, Stunned. The others look around for the source of this attack, and Percy takes advantage of this momentary lapse to Stun another one of them, aware all the while that his saviour might be a threat to him as well.

Someone shouts his name. "Percy!" It's Bill, and Percy relaxes, if only slightly.

"Bill?" he asks, Stunning a third man. "What are you doing here?"

Bill doesn't reply, and Percy sees that it's because he's too busy duelling two of the men at once. Percy gets a terrible sense of déjà vu, and he jumps into action. He will not lose another brother. Together, they manage to subdue the men, and that's when Bill rounds on Percy.

"How did you find me?" Percy asks stupidly.

"I followed you. Never mind that, what the Hell were you doing? Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"No – no, of course not," he falters, doubting the truth of his own words. Sometimes he thinks his family would be better off without him. They'd been fine for two years, hadn't they? He's too ashamed to admit that to his brother, so he yells instead. "I'm just trying to help, Bill, okay? I'm trying to rid the world of scum like that, I'm trying to do what I can, and there's nothing wrong with that! I'm trying to make things right!"

Bill's expression changes to one of sympathy, and Percy knows he understands.

"Perce, you don't have to make anything right. You're helping enough just by being with us."

""Don't you get it? He died, Bill. Fred, our baby brother, he's dead, he's not coming back, and it's all because of me! I was there, I could have saved him! I should have saved him! It should have been me! Why wasn't it me?"

And there's tears running messily down his face and his eyes are red and his body is shaking with violent sobs and he doesn't care about being pompous, composed Percy anymore, because he's Percy Weasley with five brothers, except one of them is dead. And that changes everything.

Bill doesn't try and hug him, or tell him it's okay, because it's not, and Percy's always liked that about Bill. He knows when to help and when to let you be, and he doesn't lie or offer empty words just to make you feel better.

"We all miss Fred, Perce, and we always will. But we don't want anything to happen to you. We've already lost one family member, please don't make it two. This isn't you, it has to end, this solo bid for revenge. You _can_ do some good in the world, but not here, not like this. You need to look after yourself, too. Okay?"

Percy nods, digesting Bill's words.

The next day, he goes to the Ministry and asks Kingsley Shacklebolt for a job, not his old one, but something similar, if possible. Kingsley is more than happy to oblige, directing Percy to the third floor. In the elevator, he meets a girl named Audrey, and he acknowledges that things aren't peachy or rosy or whatever shade of wonderful they're supposed to be, but things are definitely looking up.


	6. Fred II

**A/N: Last one. This was written for the Colours Competition on HPFC - blue negative (write an angst or tragedy), the Greenhouses Competition (devil's snare, write about someone trapped in a seemingly hopeless situation) and the Hogwarts Classes Competition, Category Transfiguration (write about a Gryffindor)**

October - November, 2020

Fred thinks that maybe his name was a clue as to who and how he'd be. Everyone else seems to think that too, but they think it's because he's a prankster, because he's happy and funny and alive, never do they imagine it's because he'll die too young.

He never imagines it like that either, not until one night when he can't sleep and the idea comes to him, slithering like smoke through his mind and refusing to leave. _They'd all be happier without you. You're nothing but a reminder of their pain, their loss, and you'll never live up to his memory, so why do you bother trying? Your family don't need or want you here, they don't even like you – you don't even like you, for Merlin's sake! You'd be better off dead._

The Great War is over, and has been for more than twenty years now, but Fred can't escape its legacy. He is its legacy, he thinks sadly, staring up at the red and gold ceiling. He carries a name with too many memories, far too heavy for one person to carry alone. Gryffindor isn't even his rightful House, not that he'll ever tell anyone – he's ashamed enough of himself already. The Sorting Hat had wanted to put him in Hufflepuff, and would have done, if Fred hadn't begged it for Gryffindor. At first, he thought that maybe Hufflepuff wasn't a bad house to be; Teddy's mum had been one, after all, and then he remembered: _Uncle Fred wasn't a Hufflepuff._

Seven years have passed since then, and Fred only has a year left until he graduates, yet he still hears the voice of the Sorting Hat in his head loud and clear, confirming what he's always known. _You're not good enough, Freddie. And you never will be, _hisses the cruel voice inside his head.

He considers writing to his parents briefly, and then dismisses the idea as pointless. He thinks they love him – if he's being honest with himself, he's never really been sure if they love him for who he is or who they want him to be – it's just that his dad is always flat out at the joke store (which he'll probably be expected to run, eventually) and his mum is busy coaching amateur Quidditch classes. If he writes to them, all he'll be doing is adding to their already busy schedules, and how dare he even think of doing such a thing?

Talking to James is out of the question. He's got the name of a dead person too, and he doesn't grapple with it the way Fred does. He's James Potter II, confident and funny but not much of a Quidditch player, part namesake and part himself. In a way, James has it easier than Fred, anyway – most people he sees don't remember or never met the first James Potter. On the other hand, _everyone _remembers Fred Weasley. So there's very little chance James will understand. And besides, who wants a friend who gets sad at the drop of a hat, constantly in need of reassurance? No-one, Fred thinks, so he keeps his confusion to himself, feeding his loneliness by choosing to be alone.

Fred makes his decision after the annual trip to the Burrow for grandma Molly's birthday. Technically, students aren't supposed to leave Hogwarts except at Christmas or Easter or the end of the year, but being a part of the Potter/Weasley family comes with just as many perks as it does drawbacks.

Rose is the only one who notices anything out of the ordinary, and when Fred sneaks out to the chicken coop for some pungent, precious time to himself, she follows.

"Freddie?"

"Hey Rosie. It's a bit noisy in there," he says, by way of explaining his getaway.

"Yeah," she says, nodding with an understanding that surprises him. She waits a minute, and then –

"Fred, are you okay? Lately you seem like – like you're not really here." She's watching him earnestly, and for a second Fred considers pouring out everything, and confessing that he's anything but okay. He imagines what it will be like to free himself from all the secrets making him sick, and break the silence that has become his cage.

Instead, with an enormous amount of effort, he smiles and makes a joke, because he's Fred Weasley, and that's what he's supposed to do.

They go inside together where, predictably, his absence has gone unnoticed. Fred maintains his happy façade until it's time to return to Hogwarts, where his smile instantly disappears. He, James and Albus walk back to Gryffindor Tower together, with Fred lagging behind. For some reason he doesn't understand, he feels more alone when he's with them than when he's by himself. When he questions this feeling, he hypothesises that he's a third wheel. James and Albus are brothers and they'll always have each other. They don't need Fred, and that hurts.

It's just another reminder that he's got no one. Roxy is his sister, and that won't ever change. She's also a girl, and Louis' age – not even at Hogwarts yet, so it's not the same. He's alone and lonely and isolated and stuck and this sadness feels like it will never end.

The next night, Fred sneaks out of Gryffindor Tower, unwittingly tracing the steps of countless Hogwarts students who have gone before him.

The wind is icy atop the Astronomy Tower, and if Fred were capable of feeling anything he'd have goose bumps from the cold. As it happens, he does have goose bumps – it'll all be over soon, and that knowledge leaves his heart both heavy and light with fear and relief.

He doesn't stop to think, he just closes his eyes and jumps into something different, into the hope of release.


End file.
